Five Minute Friday: MERCY

Today I'm linking up with Five Minute Friday, writing for five minutes on a given prompt. This week's word is MERCY.

Richard and I have been watching a very entertaining drama series called A Place to Call Home this summer, and the episode we watched last night was a fascinating example of the complex relationship between justice and mercy. (NOTE: IF YOU ARE CURRENTLY WATCHING OR INTEND TO WATCH THIS SHOW, YOU MAY WISH TO STOP READING TO AVOID SPOILERS.)

In the show, an evil, malicious man and woman (we'll call them Bad Guy and Bad Gal) are working together to bring down a wealthy but (mostly) good family. They do some terrible things to this family out of ambition, envy, revenge, resentment, twisted love -- all kinds of reasons.

But eventually Bad Gal is brought low, and gradually, over a period of three years, she starts to change. Bad Guy wants to keep using her to hurt the rich family -- but bit by bit she starts siding with the family, telling them Bad Guy's plans and how to get back at him. Because she's done such awful things on her own and in the service of Bad Guy, none of them wants to trust her at first. But slowly that changes too. The warnings she gives them come true. The suggestions she makes for how to thwart Bad Guy actually work. They begin to believe that -- despite all her malicious deeds -- she might actually be on their side after all.

When Bad Guy realizes Bad Gal has been working against him rather than for him, everything explodes, and Bad Gal is found dead. All the evidence points to Bad Guy, who is charged with her murder.

But then two members of the family make a shocking discovery: that Bad Gal actually ended her own life in hopes that Bad Guy would be charged with her murder. Bad Guy had the motive to kill her, and he probably wanted to, perhaps even tried to -- but he didn't do it.

So then the family must make a choice. Do they stay silent about what they've discovered, honour the sacrifice made by a woman they once despised, and let Bad Guy, who has caused them so much suffering, be punished for a crime he didn't commit? Or do they tell the police what they know, thus allowing Bad Guy to go free and (seemingly) nullifying Bad Gal's final attempt to atone for her misdeeds?

After deciding that the choice to keep silent must be a unanimous one, each member of the family states their opinion. One by one, each of them states that they want to keep silent and let Bad Guy go to prison. Finally the matriarch of the family speaks, casting the single opposing vote. She says, "I once betrayed my moral code because of love [helping her terminally ill husband end his own life]; I refuse to do it again because of hate." So the family tells the police, and Bad Guy goes free.

So is this an example of justice? Or mercy?

For Bad Guy, justice prevails: a man is accused of a crime, he's proven not to have committed that crime, and he's freed.

But Bad Guy also receives mercy. The family owe him nothing; he owes them reparations for all the ways he's violated them. But they make a choice that frees him of all obligation to make amends. He never pays and (from what we know of him) probably never will.

For Bad Gal, justice also prevails: she has done awful things, and she pays with her life to atone for them.

But there is mercy for her, too. The family has had every reason to reject, disbelieve, and mistrust her; yet they give her the gift of trust, of believing her when she says she's changed -- and she honours that trust. She ends up dying for people who have given her a chance. There's redemption in that.

Sometimes fiction is too black and white: the villains too villainous, the good guys too perfect, the outcomes too cut-and-dried. But good fiction reminds us how complex life can be -- how the black and white can blur into gray, how justice and mercy, love and hate, forgiveness and vengeance, can be all mixed together in a very complicated, and very human, package.

Five Minute Friday: WORTH (or: Brad Pitt and the Rich Man)

Today I'm linking up with Five Minute Friday, writing for five minutes about WORTH.

(Disclaimer: this is an updated version of a post from my archives.)

Pondering the word WORTH got me thinking about money, and how we make decisions based on what our money is worth or what it will do for us. Ten years ago the Canadian dollar was at par with the American one -- even worth slightly more at one point. Now it's worth 75 cents against the U.S. dollar. Ouch. I've never been a "cross-border shopper," and now I'm unlikely to become one, knowing how little my Canadian dollar will accomplish for me in the States.

Then I started thinking about other, non-monetary "currency" that we try to use, only to find that it won't accomplish what we  had hoped either.

That leads me to one of my favourite movies, Seven Years in Tibet. It's a very interesting story of a real-life Austrian adventurer named Heinrich Harrer, who abandons his wife and young son to go on a mountaineering expedition, ends up in Tibet during WWII, and becomes friends with the young Dalai Lama.

Brad Pitt plays the dashing Heinrich. There's been lots of commentary about Pitt's suitability for the role, how (un?)successful he is in reproducing a German accent, the historical accuracy of the film, and so on. But that's all secondary to me. What interests me most about this movie is that it depicts a person who really changes during the course of the story. And a big part of what precipitates that change is the character's realization that his currency is worthless.

Heinrich's fellow traveler, Peter, is a quiet, plain-looking fellow. The two are an oil-and-water mix, and Heinrich is pretty nasty to Peter at times, though they stick together throughout most of the journey. After escaping a POW camp they take refuge in Lhasa, Tibet. One of the people they meet there is a beautiful tailor named Pema. Both men are instantly taken with her.

On one occasion Heinrich tries to impress Pema by showing her photographs of himself climbing mountains and skiing as a member of the Austrian Olympic team. But Pema (who, we soon realize, is far more interested in the unassuming Peter) cuts Heinrich down to size. She says quietly, "This is another great difference between our civilization and yours. You admire the man who pushes his way to the top in any walk of life -- while we admire the man who abandons his ego. The average Tibetan wouldn't think to thrust himself forward this way."

Heinrich smiles, but he is clearly stung by her words. Ever so slowly, the truth starts to dawn on him: the currency he's been depending on for so long -- looks, adventures, awards, ego -- accomplishes nothing in this place. It's worthless.

The beautiful thing is, though, that he allows this awareness to change him. He becomes a tutor to the Dalai Lama and starts to internalize principles of Buddhism like nonviolence, humility, and harmony with all creation. He becomes a different person who can then go home and reestablish a deeper relationship with the son he left behind.

Contrast this with an episode recorded in Luke 18 and Mark 10, when Jesus is asked by a wealthy man, "What do I need to do to have eternal life?"

Jesus says, "You know the commandments" -- and lists several of them.

The man replies that he has kept all of these commandments for his entire life. I can imagine he is feeling pretty satisfied at this moment, because it sounds like the very currency he's carrying -- good behaviour -- is what's required. And perhaps he sees his wealthy status as another result of that good behaviour -- a reward for being such a good law-keeper. How affirming it would be if Jesus assured him that yes, works and wealth are in fact the keys to eternal life.

But Jesus goes on, "You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”

I think we can get bogged down pretty quickly here and start arguing about whether Jesus' words to the man should be taken as a literal prescription for all people at all times. It seems unlikely that Jesus is saying categorically that selling all our goods is a ticket to eternal life; that would be just another kind of "good work" to earn our way. But I'm not willing to dismiss it as something just for that moment, either: after all, Jesus says the poor are blessed, so maybe he's making a statement that following him will involve humility, detachment from possessions, and solidarity with the poor -- things the man hasn't experienced yet.

But regardless, I do think Jesus is letting the man know that his good deeds and possessions won't achieve what he wants them to. Following Jesus requires something different: faith and trust. The man is hoping he can keep on using the currency he's always relied upon, without having to change. He's not prepared to give everything up and rely on Jesus. As the Mark version tells us, upon hearing Jesus' words "the man's face fell, and he went away sad," choosing not to follow.

I wonder if at some point we all come to the realization that our currency lacks value: our old answers and paradigms have nothing to say to the situation we're in, or our strengths and accomplishments really have no worth in the place we find ourselves.

The question is, do we let this disorienting experience be an opportunity for real change, like Heinrich? Or, like the man who met Jesus, do we allow ourselves to feel a momentary sadness ... but then go right back to the way things were?

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Five Minute Friday: UNKNOWN

For the first time in a while, I'm linking up with the Five Minute Friday community, writing for five minutes on a given prompt.

This week's word is UNKNOWN.

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There's a thing going around Twitter right now that says,

There's only ONE MONTH left in the decade. 

What have you accomplished?

When I first read this question I thought, OK, what goals did I set for myself and meet? What projects did I embark on and finish? What aspirations did I strive toward and reach? And I realized I didn't have many of those. 

There were a few small things, like writing poems and having a few of them published. That was gratifying.

But the things that stand out in my mind from the past ten years aren't achievements; rather, they're life-altering passages in my and my family's life:

• My mom's illness, cancer diagnosis, and death in 2014.
• The sale of our family farm.
• The loss (and partial restoration) of a significant relationship.
• The death of my uncle this summer.
• My dad's hospitalization this summer and subsequent move to a nursing home last month.

A decade ago these were all unknowns. I could never have predicted even one of those things -- and I wouldn't have wanted to. Now they're in the past, but they aren't completely over and done with. They've had a shaping effect. They've reminded me of what is really important in life: love and relationships. They've reminded me to help when I can and to accept help when it's offered. They've reminded me that in the valley of the shadow -- the valley of the unknown -- God is with us.

I'm not going to list my decade's worth of accomplishments on Twitter. Instead, I'm going to enjoy the people in my life and do the work I'm called to do, recognizing that the coming decade will have many unknowns of its own to be faced and walked through.

Haikus for Advent: Week One

At the beginning of Advent, I decided that I would compose a haiku each day for the duration of the Advent season and post it on Twitter. Here on the blog I will post the previous week's poems at the end of each week.

My approach to this little project is pretty simple: each day I just choose some image or word to focus on related to Advent, Christmas, winter, nature, etc. I'm not linking them thematically one after another in any way beyond that. And I am not really holding myself strictly to all the traditional rules of haiku: I'm just using the pattern of seventeen syllables (5 - 7 - 5) to structure the poem.

Here are the haikus from Week One:

********

Ordinary  Time
ends and Advent invites us
to be still, to wait

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light the hope candle
its flame pierces the darkness
small but persistent

********

L'Engle calls Advent
"the irrational season":
faith, not certainty

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child kicks in the womb
Mary moves slowly these days
highly favoured one

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air swirling with snow
the sky is gray: nighttime
flees late, falls early

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come, Immanuel
let your love and justice break
the curse's power

********

ground and trees are bare
creatures store up winter food
to feast on later

********


I hope you enjoy these tiny poems. You can check back here in a week to see the haikus from Week Two -- or you can follow me on Twitter, if you're not doing so already, to read them day by day.

A review of Aching Joy: Following God Through the Land of Unanswered Prayer (by Jason Hague)

Parents of autistic children are always looking for companions on the autism journey. Jason Hague's newly released book Aching Joy: Following God Through the Land of Unanswered Prayer provides that kind of companionship.


Jason writes in a vulnerable, honest way about his struggle to accept his son Jack's autism diagnosis and to form a real connection with Jack. But beyond the specific details of the Hague family's life, the book is really about deeper issues that we can all relate to:

• how to balance hope and realism
• how to accept the what-is without sinking into dull resignation
• how to acknowledge struggle without trying to fix, escape, or seek pity
• how to foster the potential in our children without making their achievements all about us. 

For Jason, faith in God is what helps resolve these tensions. However, faith is not presented as a panacea or a source of glib inspirational quotes (Jason specifically mentions the cliche so many of us love to hate: "God never gives you more than you can handle"), but as an anchor in times of real challenge and wrestling.

It's also clear throughout the book that autism is not an enemy. Jason doesn't talk about finding cures or reasons or about "fixing" Jack; rather, he emphasizes over and over the need to connect with autistic people, to participate in how they see the world (something he and his family do consistently, in beautiful and often funny ways), and to foster inclusion and acceptance. I have to say I just LOVED getting to know Jack in these pages. He is such an interesting boy, and I could see so much of Jonathan in him.
 
Toward the end of the book, Jason says, "My story was a messy one ... [but] if I can help other parents -- especially dads -- identify what they are feeling instead of telling them the way they ought to feel, they might, in the end, be better equipped to love their children the way they ought to. They might, in other words, become better fathers." 

I have little doubt that those who read this book will come away with new information, new insights, and a renewed sense of what we all share, regardless of the unique circumstances we face.

Five Minute Friday: PROVIDE

Today I'm linking up with Five Minute Friday, where we write for five minutes on a given prompt. This week's word is PROVIDE.

In the Sermon on the Mount recorded in the book of Matthew, Jesus tells his listeners, "Do not worry." He encourages them to look at the birds and flowers, who don't spend time worrying about where their next meal will come from or whether they'll have warm clothes to get them through the winter. Be like them, Jesus says. "Your heavenly Father knows you need these things." He will provide.

Those are easy words for me to accept. I live in a warm, comfortable house. We have enough money to pay for heating and food and clothing -- and plenty left over for luxuries. I have never worried about whether I'll have enough food or clothing or whether my gas supply will be cut off in the middle of winter, leaving our family in the cold. But the people Jesus was speaking to must have had reason to worry about these things.

Jesus goes on to say, "Seek God's kingdom, and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." It sounds like a simple equation: "Put God first, and all your material needs will be provided." 

But it doesn't seem to work that way in real life. Millions of people in the world still do worry about food and clothing and shelter -- and those needs are not met. They will go to bed hungry and cold tonight, whether or not they've tried their best to put God and his kingdom first.

Some Christians, faced with the undeniable reality that God doesn't always provide, reach for simplistic cliches that attempt to get God off the hook, like

• "If you don't have something, that means God knew you didn't really need it." (Uh, well ... we need food to survive.)

• "God sometimes tests our faith by making us wait for what we need." (Imagine God making a starving baby wait just a bit longer for milk in order to test its faith.)

• "Doesn't the Bible say 'You have not because you ask not'?" (This is a classic example of snatching a phrase we remember hearing somewhere in Scripture and applying it completely out of context, while also implying that those in need are probably doing something wrong.)

Using these pat statements is something only the privileged can afford to do (and I include myself in that). Privilege allows us to keep the poor at arm's length and makes us feel entitled to counsel them from a place of superiority.

But Jesus is not preaching from that place of privileged superiority. He comes down to our level to stand in solidarity with the poorest and meekest among us and invites us to a new life with him. Those of us who are privileged and well-provided-for should be part of helping to provide for others' needs and seeing their well-being and ours as a common cause.

I have a long way to go to even get close to this radical way of thinking and living. I find it way too easy to feel comfortable and complacent about what I've been provided with. No wonder Jesus commented on how difficult it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God.

Happy Thanksgiving 2017

Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian (and those who wish they were!) friends and family. 

Yesterday in church we sang one of my favourite hymns, "Great is Thy Faithfulness." The second verse says

Summer and winter and springtime and harvest

Sun, moon, and stars in their courses above

Join with all nature in manifold witness

To Thy great faithfulness, mercy, and love.

What a beautiful image: the changing seasons, the stars and planets, all of nature are witnesses to God's faithfulness and join us in praising Him.

Pastor Mark's sermon yesterday emphasized that what is fixed and immovable must be the basis for our thanksgiving. God is that fixed and immovable foundation. Thanking Him in all things, and then answering His call to love others and help those in need, should be our response.

Worthless currency: Brad Pitt and the rich young man

In my last post, I wrote for five minutes on the word WORTH as part of the Five Minute Friday linkup. I didn't give a lot of thought to where I was going with the post when I started writing it, but the distinction between "deserve" and "worth," which I remembered from one of Lewis Smedes' books, seemed like an interesting concept to unpack in five minutes.

Since then, I've continued pondering the word WORTH. I got thinking about currency, and how we make decisions based on what our money is worth or what it will do for us. Ten years ago the Canadian dollar was at par with the American one -- even worth slightly more at one point. Now it's worth 75 cents against the U.S. dollar. Ouch. I've never been a "cross-border shopper," and now I'm unlikely to become one, knowing how little my Canadian dollar will accomplish for me in the States.

Then I started thinking about other, non-monetary "currency" that we try to use, only to find that it won't accomplish what we  had hoped either.

That leads me to one of my favourite movies, Seven Years in Tibet. It's a very interesting story of a real-life Austrian adventurer named Heinrich Harrer, who abandons his wife and young son to go on a mountaineering expedition, ends up in Tibet during WWII, and becomes friends with the young Dalai Lama.

Brad Pitt plays the dashing Heinrich. There's been lots of commentary about Pitt's suitability for the role, how successful he is in reproducing a German accent, the historical accuracy of the film, and so on. But that's all secondary to me. What interests me most about this movie is that it depicts a person who really changes during the course of the story. And a big part of what precipitates that change is the character's realization that his currency is worthless.

Heinrich's fellow traveler, Peter, is a quiet, plain-looking fellow. The two are an oil-and-water mix, and Heinrich is pretty nasty to Peter at times, though they stick together throughout most of the journey. After escaping a POW camp they take refuge in Lhasa, Tibet. One of the people they meet there is a beautiful tailor named Pema. Both men are instantly taken with her.

On one occasion Heinrich tries to impress Pema by showing her photographs of himself climbing mountains and skiing as a member of the Austrian Olympic team. But Pema (who, we soon realize, is far more interested in the unassuming Peter) cuts Heinrich down to size. She says quietly, "This is another great difference between our civilization and yours. You admire the man who pushes his way to the top in any walk of life -- while we admire the man who abandons his ego. The average Tibetan wouldn't think to thrust himself forward this way."

Heinrich smiles, but he is clearly stung by her words. Ever so slowly, the truth starts to dawn on him: the currency he's been depending on for so long -- looks, adventures, awards, ego -- accomplishes nothing in this place. It's worthless.

The beautiful thing is, though, that he allows this awareness to change him. He becomes a tutor to the Dalai Lama and starts to internalize principles of Buddhism like nonviolence, humility, and harmony with all creation. He becomes a different person who can then go home and reestablish a deeper relationship with the son he left behind.

Contrast this with an episode recorded in Luke 18 and Mark 10, when Jesus is asked by a wealthy young man, "What do I need to do to have eternal life?"

Jesus says, "You know the commandments" -- and lists several of them.

The young man replies that he has kept all of these commandments for his entire life. I can imagine he is feeling pretty satisfied at this moment, because it sounds like the very currency he's carrying -- good behaviour -- is what's required. And perhaps he sees his wealthy status as another result of that good behaviour -- a reward for being such a good law-keeper. How affirming it would be if Jesus assured him that yes, works and wealth are in fact the keys to eternal life.

But Jesus goes on, "You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”

I don't think this should be taken as a literal prescription for all people at all times. Jesus isn't saying categorically that selling all our goods is the way to have eternal life; that would be just another kind of "good work" to earn our way.  Rather, I think Jesus is telling the young man that his good deeds and possessions actually won't achieve what he says he wants. Following Jesus requires something different: faith and trust.

 The young man is hoping he can keep on using the currency he's always relied upon, without really having to change. He's not prepared to give everything up and rely on Jesus. As the Mark version tells us, upon hearing Jesus' words "the man's face fell, and he went away sad," choosing not to follow.

I wonder if at some point we all come to the realization that our currency lacks value: our old answers and paradigms have nothing to say to the situation we're in, or our strengths and accomplishments really have no worth in the place we find ourselves.

The question is, do we let this disorienting experience be an opportunity for real change? Or do we allow ourselves to feel a momentary sadness but then go right back to the way things were?

These are the thoughts that going beyond "five minutes' worth of WORTH" led me to today.

 

Five Minute Friday: MIDDLE

Today I'm linking up with Kate Motaung for Five Minute Friday. Today's prompt was "MIDDLE."

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Earlier this week we had a night of high winds and freezing rain. I was awakened in the middle of the night by the power going off. How the sudden silence of the house could wake me up, I don't know, but it did. 

Richard was sleeping in the spare room because he had to get up earlier than me, so I went upstairs with a flashlight to be sure there were no fallen trees or anything else (other than ice and wind) causing the outage. Jonathan woke up too, and wanted to get up, but since it was 4:15 (slightly earlier than I'd intended to get up for the day), I was able to persuade him back to bed.

photo: The Weather Network  

I lay there in the darkness and my mind immediately started racing, imagining and planning what would happen if the power wasn't on by morning. The gas fireplace would turn on, so we'd have some warmth. We could light the gas stove burners with a barbecue lighter and heat water for coffee, even toast bread in a frying pan. How many times would we need to open the fridge to cobble breakfast together? What if the power was off at Jonathan's school, though: he'd have to stay home, and I had a (rare) meeting on campus at 11 that I couldn't miss. But what if power was off on campus too? My mind was swirling at top speed.

Somehow these racing thoughts calmed themselves, and I must have fallen asleep, because I was suddenly awakened again by the bedroom lights coming on. Jonathan must have flicked the light switch on when he came in earlier to investigate what was happening. It was 5:15. I turned the lights off, got back into bed with a sigh of relief, and slept.

That wasn't the first time I'd lain awake in the middle of the night, with thoughts and worries swirling through my mind. I wish every time it happened, problems would be obliterated by a sudden burst of light -- but that usually doesn't happen. Most of the time answers are harder to come by, so I wait, wonder, and try to trust.

"We're flying!"

This past weekend I watched this YouTube video that Ann Voskamp shared on her blog as part of her weekend collection of uplifting content.

It's a 5-minute video of Irish pilot Michael McMahon taking his little brother Robbie on his first airplane flight.

CLICK HERE: Robbie First Flight (William Syndrome) - Youtube

 There's not much to it, really. There are no "YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENS AT 3:12" or "WHEN I SAW WHAT HAPPENED NEXT, MY JAW LITERALLY DROPPED!" moments ... no death-defying rolls or flips in the air ... no emergency landing. Still, I bet that once you've watched it, you'll want to see it again.

I think what's so special about this clip is that it captures all of the good things in life:

• Adventure. What could be more exciting for two brothers than flying in a plane?
• Companionship. I love it when little Robbie says things like "Booza-booza" and Michael says "Booza-booza" right back. They've clearly had these conversations before.
• Trust. Note Robbie's body language. He never flinches, never tenses up and holds on, never seems fearful of a noise or movement; he just enters into the experience without question, happily assuming that whatever his big brother does will be just fine.
• Patience. Robbie keeps saying "Mikey?" "Mikey?" and his brother answers patiently every time. (I can relate: well, to the repetition part, if not always the patient reply part.)
• Simplicity. Robbie is thrilled to be in the plane, but also looks forward just to having dinner with Daddy and Mikey.
• Love. That's obvious throughout, but they still say it in words: "I love you." "I love you too, buddy." So sweet!!!
• Joy. The expressions on their faces at 1:40 say it all: life is good when you're doing something fun with somebody you love.

I hope you enjoy this video as much as I did. And remember: "Sing a happy happy happy happy happy happy song."

"The Right Teacher at the Right Time": guest post at Tim Fall's blog

Today I have a guest post at Tim Fall's blog, Just One Train Wreck After Another.  The motto Tim has chosen for his blog is "Honouring God, Encouraging People," and it fits. (Actually, he spells it "Honoring." I don't know what that's all about; you'll have to ask him.) I visit Tim's blog regularly because he always has an interesting, inspiring, and often funny angle on his subject matter -- and because his comments section is one of the best!  So I'm really happy to be his guest today.

Here's the start of my post: 

When I graduated from university in 1985 with a B.A. in English, I was 21 years old. I had no real career plan, but I did get a part-time job as a research assistant for one of my former English professors. This job was perfect for me ...

CLICK HERE TO READ THE REST